


The book of love is long and boring (But I, I love it when you read to me)

by ImberReader



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Space, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Gen, Grief, PDA at offensive levels, Prompt Fill, Proposals, Sansa Stark is a Good Friend, They're fools in love in every iteration and that's the main thing you need to know, fairy tale AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 7,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21647365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImberReader/pseuds/ImberReader
Summary: Prompt fills that I feel are not long enough to be posted as separate stories on their own.Tags will be updated as more are added.Chapter 14:“I wanted to start the summer right, like I should have last year,” he explains, taking on hopeless war with wind to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear with gentleness that hits a bullseye on a yearning target she wasn’t even aware she had.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Sansa Stark & Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 94
Kudos: 194





	1. Arranged marriage to save one's social status

**Author's Note:**

> Finally decided I will start gathering my smaller prompt fills in same space. Some of them might be very small indeed. 
> 
> Title from Book of Love by Magnetic Field because I can't shake it off.
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](https://scoundrels-in-love.tumblr.com/).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh if you take prompts for the arranged marriage, number 7 please :)" - Aviss
> 
>  **Regency AU** \- Either Person A or Person B is in danger of being ruined socially

“Marry me.”

This is not how Jaime had imagined the words being spoken between the two of them. (And he had, now and then, if only to attempt picturing a softer rejection than the ones his sister had given him, because Brienne would be honest, but not cruel.)

Her gaze, that had been skidding around their campsite minutes ago, is now resolutely on him, though small part of this proposal’s cost is reflected in her reddened face. The way her throat struggles over a swallow in the stretching silence.

Jaime knows he should answer, before she takes it as a _no_ , but he is captivated by how stalwart and vibrant she looks in this light, this moment. (When she had asked _him_ to marry _her_.) Brilliant, with her blush and the shine of guiding stars born in her eyes, and all the more with her heart.

“Why?” he has to ask, because he knows she’d not ask this merely because she _wants_ to. As much as Jaime wishes it to be the case.

“So you can claim having married me months ago, at the start of this journey or even before. Who will care at our destination for what you supposedly did or did not do with Cersei when you were teenager, when you have had a wife for a year already? At least your father should not care too much it is Brienne the Beauty. I am to be Evenstar, after all.” There’s just an echo of what he imagines ice sounds like breaking in the distance on _Beauty_ and he swears he’ll revisit it on later time (when he can hopefully marvel at all of her and tell her just that), but first he has to clarify something.

“Are you telling me, you will cloak me and bring me under your protection from _dishonor_?” Him, the handless oathbreaker whose honor was washed away by the blood of his king and sister’s maidenhead? She’d put herself on line in even this way to protect him?

“Yes, Jaime. And when you meet someone who you truly wish to wed, we can annul the marriage on grounds of it never being consummated. No one will blame you for that.” Her face twists at that, possibly thinking back to her failed engagements or of the further embarrassment she’d willingly bring to herself (the speculations she threatened him into this, somehow, or whatever foul thing small minds would conjure).

His heart is so full it leaks molten gold into his limbs, part fury at all those who have hurt her so (it scorches his tongue that had been cruel to her, too, once upon a time), part awe and disbelieving gratitude. And part, the largest of all, such overwhelming love it blurs the edges of his vision with golden smoke.

“Oh, Brienne. If we are to marry, unconsummated is the _last_ thing our marriage will be.”

Jaime hauls himself closer to her then, arm wrapping around her shoulders. In the flickering light of fire, her eyes are both darker and bluer than anything he has seen and he thinks it might be the most beautiful of their shades yet. (But he looks forward to possibilities of finding other favorites.) Brienne’s gaze wavers again, slipping from his eyes to his lips one word away from hers, and back up once more.

“If you will have me.”

She kisses him in lieu of answer.

Much later, he tells her it seems he must now rescue her honor with marriage and receives a well earned gentle smack on chest. “We save each other, then,” he offers, because that _is_ the truth, and in response, Brienne’s smile outshines all the light he has ever known.


	2. Fortunes of the Devil card

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Devil, for Jaime and Brienne please :)" - Aviss
> 
>  **The Devil:** addiction, detachment, materialism, monsters
> 
> Fortunes from past, present and the future. (All at once, sometimes.)

_Addiction_

Jaime has never found heady ease in a cup of wine or other liquors that his siblings seem to hold in such high regard. For him, it’s _action_ that gives him a rush of pleasure, sometimes quite literal when he submerges himself in Cersei’s touch, each time intoxicating and going without her, all golden silk and wrath, is acute pain in his body, soul.

But then, during his captivity, he misses sword-fighting just as much, to point he feverishly dreams of it more than he dreams of her. And the sheer pleasure of fighting again (with wench, no less) eclipses anything else he can remember.

When he loses his hand, watching someone fight is like sitting in basement with the best Westeros vintage and knowing he will never drink a drop of it. That feeling never goes quite away, not even when sword has become a familiar weight in his left hand, but he feels like he can satisfy his _need_ the best when he’s sparring with Brienne.

But maybe that’s just her, because when he tastes her lips, her skin, it’s _everything_ and never quite enough all at once and he knows he will always need the next sip, next wave of her to wash over him. The thrill and the craving has never felt so safe as it does in her arms.

_Detachment_

Most of the time, Jaime Lannister doesn’t do things halfway. The one thing he never quite manages to be is _indifferent_ , though. He tries, even feigns being such, when there is a Queen he cannot protect from her own husband, when his sister weds Robert, when Kingslayer is said so often it becomes part of the very air and sinks into him, like a brand only he can trace on his skin.

Sometimes, a shroud of nothingness takes over his mind, whisks him away from wherever he is and eventually leaves him stranded in some place he cannot truly recall going to. But even that doesn’t feel like detachment, merely oblivion, and all the love, all the hate is merely waiting for him to emerge, its maw gaping and ready to drag him into new whirlpools.

_Materialism  
_

Brienne has always prided herself in being practical, but perhaps spending so much time with Lannisters (one in particular) has eroded some of her pragmatism. She finds herself appreciating gold more and more, not necessarily for the comforts it buys, but for the many ways it gleams; in the harsh sunlight of King’s Landing, in what could be the last sunset and then the dawn after Long Night, in low light of her _(their)_ chamber. The way it feels cool, yet quickly warming, and trustworthy under her calloused palm, the lion pommel as familiar to her now as her own digits. Yes, she thinks, there is merit and beauty to gold, after all.

And if she scoffs but accepts locket with a golden lock - _token of affection, dear Ser, lest you forget who awaits you home when you ride off to save the world once more -,_ she thinks there are worse things to be than a little materialistic.

_Monsters_

To be a knight is to slay monsters. But the kind of beasts that plague unfortunate towns and innocent folks - giants and dragons and White Walkers - are gone, dead by time and knights that came before her. (Until they aren’t, until there may not be enough knights, _people_ , in the entire world to stop them.)

So, she had resigned herself to never living that part of knighthood, along with most others. But there comes a day when she meets a man who is far worse a beast than the sort she encounters daily: creatures with barbed whips for tongues, forming swarming mass she is used walking through with her visor down. She’s grown adept at pretending their hooked claws don’t find every unlikely gap in her armor just to sink the very tips in her flesh, leaving countless tiny, bleeding wounds that she can’t even _complain_ about because it’s nothing earned in an honest fight, nothing _serious_. (Nothing a knight would speak of.) But they sting and sometimes she wonders if half her freckles aren’t remnants from these cuts, darkened marks of where she picked at scabs.

On the day she encounters it, her blade sinks in his gut easily and his foul breath must have been a lot like dragon’s breath on the face of tavern girl he had decided to bed, without giving her a choice. And Brienne of Tarth, who cried when she had to butcher a pig, decides that perhaps there are monsters to be slayed still and that doing so comes to her naturally, after all.


	3. In Vino Veritas + Fake Dating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In Vino Veritas and Fake Dating with Braime for the fic mash up?" - Anon

Sansa looks over her living room once more and finds the sight satisfactory; the pillows are fluffed and piled high, array of food and snacks are precariously piled on the table and the wine bottle is waiting to be opened. She thinks it might be very much needed for a certain someone to _open up_ , too.

There is even a blanket to wrap around Brienne’s shoulders if she needs extra comfort at the end (which Sansa suspects she might).

It’s not that she has invited her friend over for a catching up and movie night just because of _that_ thing. She has genuinely missed watching cheesy romcoms with Brienne on Friday nights - the way she would roll her eyes about _idiot plot_ or couples that don’t know how to communicate, but lean in with baited breath at the end anyway because deep down, she is a fellow romantic. Merely forced to be embarrassed about it and that’s why Sansa loves giving her the space to indulge it.

And now Brienne is in middle of her own romantic comedy and Sansa is prepared for the battle of making her see the truth of it.

When her friend arrives, with her own share of food and a bottle of wine, Sansa wraps her up (to her best ability) in a bear hug and Brienne startles only a little before returning it. It’s truly been too long and suddenly, Sansa feels a wave of homesickness for Winterfell. For her family and her best friend, even the cold. She loves her job here, of course, loves the people King’s Landing has brought into her life, but maybe she’s due for a vacation and a trip home. Even if the needy ache in her chest might freeze over within a day when she’s there.

But tonight isn’t about _her_.

Except heroine of the hour doesn’t seem to be all too keen on ‘fessing up, despite all the little prods and prompts from Sansa, not at all subtle by second movie. (”Oh, if only she _confided_ in someone.” “Can’t she see he’s smitten? All her friends do.”) It’s almost as if they’ve switched their watching roles as Brienne only hums in agreement, a small smile nestled in corners of her mouth as if she had a small, pleasing secret. And she _does_ , except it is far from pleasing _._

She thinks back to the frustration edged with hurt in Brienne’s voice a week ago. Wonders why Brienne doesn’t try to seek her help in solving the matter. Trust and any moment of vulnerability doesn’t come easy to her blonde friend and maybe the three years they’ve barely seen each other has closed those doors between them. The thought stings beneath her skin so Sansa pours another glass of wine to soothe it. 

It’s halfway past midnight when her patience is worn down to bone and she straightens up, blinks blearily at the screen (Twenty four is not old enough to get sleepy at midnight!! But maybe it’s the wine. Just maybe.). Then refocuses on Brienne who looks at her expectantly, if a little warily. 

“I know,” Sansa announces. “I know you’re only fake-dating Jaime.”

There. The cat (or the lion) is out of the bag.

Brienne’s face is blank for a moment before she buries it in her hands.

“No, I am not, Sansa.” Her shoulders shake and Sansa’s not entirely sure if it’s because she’s crying, it doesn’t _feel_ quite so when she hugs Brienne, but she’s here to reassure anyway.

“You don’t have to lie, Brienne. It’s okay!!” She squeezes Brienne’s shoulders empathically. “I overheard you last week, I didn’t mean to, but you were arguing how room sharing and kissing you in front of Tywin had been beyond your agreement and, _listen_ , I _know_ you’ve been crushing on your online friend that turned out to be Jaime fucking Lannister for _ages_ and he’s obviously in love with you, so you should _totally_ tap that.” It all comes out in a great rush and finally, Brienne stills and shifts to rest head on her shoulder, arm wrapping around Sansa’s waist in an awkwardly angled hug.

Instead of tears, there’s flushed but exhilarated grin on her face. “I _know_. I have.”

“You have what?” Sansa asks and then processes it just as Brienne grins even wider. “Tapped that.” 

Next twenty minutes are spent in chaotic, overlapping questions and retelling of how Jaime had confessed his feelings a day after the argument Sansa had overheard. (”He said he kissed me not because Tywin would _loathe_ the public display, but because he had dreamed of it for the past year.”) 

She still scolds Brienne for not telling, asks if she ever planned to share and Brienne admits she had been afraid Sansa would want to cause some bodily (or reputational) harm to Jaime, if she thought he was toying with her feelings or otherwise hurting her, even unintentionally. “I still will threaten him with that, just in case,” Sansa swears.

“You don’t have to, I can protect myself just fine, Sansa.” Brienne’s tone is exasperated, but fond as they dip towards an age old argument. 

“You can. But you don’t _have to_ , always. Let us share some of that load sometimes.”

“Funny, Jaime said the same thing, after he punched Connington.”

And as Sansa shakes details about _that_ out of Brienne, she thinks that maybe Jaime genuinely has earned a heroine like her best friend.

(Maybe Sansa has found her favorite romcom and is already designing a wedding dress. Just maybe.)


	4. Criminal AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Brienne/Jaime, criminal AU?" - Anon

“You should not have done this.”   
  
“You are the one that told me to _fuck loyalty_.” He hadn’t, in the end - he had merely chosen the underground river of it, let it take him home, when land above had turned to desert. He had given it his all, the very last drop, and received nothing in return, but the sea would have him now. Jaime only wishes it looked less sad, as he gazes into her eyes. (He hasn’t earned it, he never will.)

“Not like _this_ , Jaime. I never expected you to come out of woodwork and appear in courtroom to testify. If you had told me, I could have…” Bargained for witness protection program, maybe, or risked her entire career to shield him from the maws of wolves she worked with. He knows she would have done it all and more and his heart swells so heavy he thinks he needs her strong hands to hold it. But he can’t ask that of her. 

So Jaime shrugs, smirks: “Should have given clearer instructions then, copper.” (Anything to chase that look from her face.) 

Her mouth twists a little at the old nickname, enough to be a silhouette of a smile through mist. It’ll have to do. “You might spend rest of your life in jail.” The _might_ is actually _most likely will_. Unless they try to bargain late, but he hadn’t come here to do that. 

“Maybe, but at least I will know what for.”


	5. A whisper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "6, if it strikes your fancy" - firesign23
> 
> **6\. A Whisper**

The thing about whispers is that they never stay just that.

They usually don’t grow in volume as rapidly as they spread through the hall upon her first entrance, but in the face of adult incomprehension and powerlessness, they always swell and burst into jeers and laughter eventually. 

She doesn’t really blame the teachers and other adults, most of them anyway. (Except for Roelle.) Brienne’s not sure herself what could be done to cut this tenacious cruelty in its root.

So, she does what she _can_ \- remembers that words are winds and listens to actual wind howling around her as she speeds down a road. Sometimes alone, other times with her friends. She learns to fight, so all the boys that used to mockingly cover in fright and discuss how they can’t be too loud or the beastly creature will beat them up actually know she _could_. 

(She never fights outside the gym until she has to protect someone else, but that is beside the point.)

But Brienne _can’t_ feel comfortable when someone’s whispering. Not even when it’s Sansa and Robb, huddled together on the couch and planning her birthday party. 

So, Jaime Lannister is somehow a welcome change. He never whispers - not when he taunts her in the field, not when he unabashedly, if oddly, compliments her and draws unneeded attention to her, not when he loudly argues with her over Targaryen Era details in the middle of the auditorium. Not even when he’s bothering her during her shift at Tarly's corner store or shutting down Cersei’s commentary. And while she does wish for a volume control on him (there’s so much space between the max setting and almost mute of whispers), she secretly learns to enjoy this murmur-clean connection. 

She doesn’t know what else to call it, really. (It hovers somewhere before and after friendship, all encompassing and just short of _something_ all at once). Not even when Jaime kisses her, but she thinks she might like to figure it out. And with the way whispers of her name taste on his lips, she realizes that perhaps with him, volume doesn’t matter after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vaguely placed in a Uni AU where Brienne rides a motorbike with Stark kids that was one of first things I thought of for Braime.


	6. Before the beginning of Let's go our separate ways in the night (But know that you're flying home to me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oooo, can I ask for a Before the Beginning for your space fic?" - Anonymous 
> 
> As requested!

The simulation for this round is a foggy field, battle noises eerily muffled and most opponents concealed until it is potentially too late, if one is not careful. Brienne still holds onto faint hope this will help her focus, get lost in the sway of clashing swords. And yet, her mind tumbles down a familiar path once again.

It’s been a week.

A week and a day, Brienne corrects herself and slays one of the simulation generated knights, because she should be thinking of the day she stood victorious in the melee field, the crowd chanting her name so loudly it drowned out the ringing in her head. The day she had knelt in front of Jaime, so golden and bright her eyes had watered from looking at him, and he had recited her achievements as he granted her rank of Knight Commander. The day he said he is proud of her, listed her meager achievements as if they were those of Ser Barristan Selmy.

Though counting time from the ill-ended wedding would be appropriate, too, she decides as she fends off another attacker. A week since King Joffrey - Jaime’s flesh and blood, if not taking after his heart and soul - died and foreboding tremors went through the rotting corpse of peace, hidden behind thin curtains. A week since Lady Sansa left the system in a small, unmarked shuttle with a man whose face could not be seen in the only footage Brienne had managed to obtain.

She turns just in time to block an attack from behind and fights a sigh more powerful than her opponent.

If only these were the reasons why she has felt the time crawl by.

It’s been a week since the Queen squinted at her like a shimmering, beautiful beast that could already taste anguish of its prey. (Brienne would compare her to an arborscat, but the animals are rarely as cruel as Cersei Lannister is. Then again, much like there is no man like Jaime, there is no one like Cersei.) A week since _But you love him,_ that had felt like revelation and curse all at once because it was true, wasn’t it? Even though it feels nothing like what she felt for Renly, the bones of this care are the same. She ought to bury it before it grows into its form fully, living and breathing and bleeding out when she might have to slay it to fulfill her oaths. But she’s never been good with funerals, not since Galladon…

A week since she had sparred with Jaime.

She has seen him, once, when she paid respect to Joffrey and he stood vigil, pale and still like statues of the Seven around the Sept. She had thought him to be like Warrior come to life, once, untouchable and fierce. In that moment, she wondered if he’d crumble if she reached out. Had wished she could give him the place to do so, if not her unfeminine arms, then at least a shoulder, like a comrade, a _friend_. Gods knew hers were wide enough to bear the burden of his pain.

Brienne grunts as one of the simulations emerge from the fog and hits her shoulder, the training pauldron creating realistic feeling of pain though no bruise will appear on her skin.

Her sword goes through easily and just as she spins to kill another, the scene flickers before fading away and leaving her panting in large, plainly white space.

She sheathes her weapon and exits the room, quite ready to remind the person she still has at least an hour left, but the words float away and dissipate in her aching and empty (or maybe all too full) chest when she sees Jaime.

“Brienne,” he says with a smile that has been worn thin by sleepless nights and some things she can only guess, but is sincere.

“Come, I have something to show you.”

She follows him wordlessly, because her heart always will, even when her path carries her in the opposite direction.


	7. "I called you at 2am because I need you"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompts: "I called you at 2am because I need you"? - Anonymous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I consider going Makeup artist verse for this? Yes. But have this instead. :D

Brienne’s bizarre dream - something about bear and wooden swords that turn to gold - distorts as holes are torn into the scene and she wakes suddenly, at incessant ringing of her phone. It’s dark, in that thick, cool way that overtakes Winterfell for more than 14 hours a day at this time of year, and she grabs at her phone.

The first thing she notices is _Jaime_. The other is that it’s 5:15am. On Sunday morning.

She debates for one entire ring the possibility of not answering or declining the call. But she knows she’d have hard time sleeping, with worry singing like a songbird in corner of her mind. What if this is important? What if he is in trouble? What if he keeps calling until she picks up, anyway?

So, she braces herself and sweeps at the green button. 

“Brienne! Finally,” Jaime greets her, almost pitch-perfect frustrated-overjoyed, but she can tell the slurring of alcohol. “I need you,” he announces.

Despite herself, Brienne draws a sharp breath, feels her heart leap upward and beat at increased pace in her chest. “I need you to tell them they’re wrong and I’m right.” 

One of the wings carrying her heart is shot off by a sniper. The other can’t support the weight of her foolishness and the whole thing crashes in her rib cage.

“Jaime, it is 5 fucking am. I am not helping you win some stupid, drunken argument at 5 am.” 

As always, he only hears what he wants to hear. “Huh, it’s only 2 am here. Fuckin’ time zones.” 

“Yes, now that we have established that, can I go back to sleep?” She thinks her irritation is completely logical, absolutely understandable given the circumstances. Got nothing to do with that bullet wound. Gods damn the man, her heart never thought about flying before him and now its target practice for his casual, careless words.

“Brienne, pleeeease. My honor is on the line!” 

“As if you have any.”

“Harsh. But this is my one chance at it! Brienne, pleeease. It’s about _Oathkeeper_!” Jaime proceeds to explain the argument he is having with Arthur Dayne, of all people, and she briefly feels incredibly jealous of his internship at Westeros Golden Age Museum again, though she truly loves working for the Starks. Except now she truly can’t say no. 

“Fine, put me on loudspeaker.” 

The three of them spend next hour in increasingly passionate debate, at end of which Dayne actually concedes to one of her (their) points and she feels giddy like a kid that got an extra sticker on their homework. When Bronn shouts in background he is kicking the nerds out, Jaime laughs and she can see his sun-bright smile in her mind.

“Okay, I guess that’s our cue. Thanks, Brienne. You’re **the best**. Love you.”

And with that, he ends the call. Like his words didn’t just open the abyss beneath her feet (he didn’t mean it _like that_ , he is drunk), as if she isn’t riding a whole fucking dragon that used to be her heart above it (he loves me, he loves me).


	8. "Elope with me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spider Flower! Spider Flower! - Anonymous
> 
> Spider flower - elope with me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written for a good while, this is literally answered 2 months later and my English is also taking a vacation, but alas.

“Ser Brienne.”  


She shifts a little, so she can look at his face from where she’s resting against his shoulder, drinking in his sated grin that is echoed by the heavy warmth filling her limbs. Quirks eyebrow at the use of title - she used to hear mockery in it (though it had gone away much sooner than she had been ready to acknowledge), but now there’s only affection and faux seriousness. And yet, there is an undercurrent that swirls beneath, much like the pattern he’s drawing on her bare shoulder.  


“Now that you’ve stolen me so publicly, I worry my virtue will be in question.”  


“I did not do that,” Brienne argues as if his serious tone isn’t undermined by his expression and the tilted flower crown still atop his head. She _had_ kissed him, swept up and away by the cheers and adrenaline as she claimed the victory of mock tourney KLU put together each year. Kissed him after crowning him queen of Love and Beauty, because he had looked so golden and happy for her she had wanted to taste love and joy on his lips. Kissed him though she had been the one to insist they should keep their relationship a secret for a while longer.  


But it had been Jaime that took her hand and dragged her away, claiming there was celebration to be had (even if the ‘feast’ was in the opposite direction) to the whooping and hollering crowd. It had been Jaime who had pressed her against his apartment doors and made her forget anything but his lips and the picture he painted with his words ( _glorious, the Warrior in flesh, I was hard before you even kissed me, I can’t believe this year I can actually tell you that_ ).  


So, truly, Brienne had been the one who had been stolen away and debauched. And not for the first time.  


“I am afraid our peers might not agree. So I have to ask you to do the honorable thing, Brienne.” The playfulness is still there, but it’s turning translucent now. There’s odd, quick pattern in her chest at the sight of its pearly shimmer. She knows him, from shadows that he sometimes believe to snuff out all the light in him to casualness with which he loves brighter than anyone else. She _knows_ him and yet, she never knows what to expect beyond support that she can’t quite categorize.  


“Elope with me.” Maybe she inhales sharply, maybe she stops breathing at all.  


“The cat is out of the bag and it’s the last day before we are free until fall.” Maybe if Brienne wasn’t so occupied by wrestling by his previous sentence, she’d object they ought to head back and clean up, that they have responsibility as the professors, but now there’s only Jaime and the absence of her stunned heartbeat.

“Let’s book the next flight to Dorne or, better yet, to Tarth and let’s get married. When we come back, no one can say a thing about our relationship, least of all the Starks. And most importantly, I love you and I want to be your nuisance, your queen of love and beauty, your husband for rest of my life.” His eyes glimmer with few filtered sunbeams and determination in the shadowy bedroom that Brienne has secretly started calling _theirs_.  


And suddenly, it can **be**.  


For the second time that day, Brienne moves to pull him in for a kiss that is a translation for all that blooms in her throat and has no words for even in ancient Valyrian.  


When Sansa texts her later that evening, it bounces against Airplane mode on her phone that Brienne remembers to turn off only next morning. And questing fingers, _wife_ being kissed into her skin prevents her from replying to it even longer, but honestly, she’d not have it any other way.  


Later that summer, Jaime tells her it’s not how he had planned to do it, but she kisses his worries away. She knows that she’d have loved whatever he did the most, but the same is true for this muted yet vibrant version of his heart, presented among tangled sheets.


	9. Breakup prompts - "I kissed you goodbye by accident, because old habits die hard, okay??"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the breakup prompts, "i kissed you goodbye by accident - old habits die hard okay?!?!" - [Roccolinde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roccolinde/pseuds/Roccolinde)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was intended to be short and funny, when it’s not really either of those things. Also TFW the person who prompted ends up your soundboard for the piece. But it'd not be half the thing it is without some delightful inputs from best unofficial beta.

Brienne should have known it'd end horribly.

In a way she _had_ \- she had absolutely expected her relationship with Jaime fucking Lannister to crash and burn, with same intensity of Wildfire like heat his eyes could hold. (Just for her.) Except it hadn't. Instead, it had turned to snow of far North that melted and trickled through their fingers. They couldn't hold onto it, not for almost two years she was to spend in archealogical dig beyond the Wall while he worked in King's Landing museum of history and art. 

When they had sat down and discussed it seriously, Brienne had been lulled in false sense of security. The breakup had been mutual (eventually Jaime had stopped arguing over how fair or unfair it'd be for Brienne to make him wait for her after they'd been together only half a year) and going back to friends hadn't been as awkward as she had expected. In some ways, it _did_ make Brienne realize that their friends had been right all along by saying they had been basically dating without dating for a while already. 

And that's where the trap laid. They still hung out whenever possible, had their weekend movie nights when it was easy to cuddle together 'just like they had before they dated' and not mention it had definitely not included toying with each other's hairor sleepy nuzzles in the crook of her neck. He was still the person she wanted to talk with first and the very last in her day and it was still possible because they had texted each other constantly for last two year, anyway. Jaime still kissed her goodbye because suddenly stopping after a year would be even more awkward, right? It was demoted back to peck on cheek, anyway.

Except tonight she had turned her head to receive it, because the line they had barely sketched with chalk had been blurred by their shuffling feet, and Jaime's lips had been so warm, so eager and too much like a welcome home when she hadn't even left yet. 

So, now Brienne was staring at her unflattering reflection, adorned by a darkening hickey. It wasn't comforting to know he was sporting similar one. Neither was the refreshed memory of the sound he made when her lips were on his neck. Or the way the darkness of his eyes shifted from shades of desire to hurt when she pushed against him and then scrambled out of the door. 

"I don't do hook ups or friends with benefits," she had told Jaime, a whole golden, wonderful, doomed relationship earlier, when they had tumbled into a makeout almost as accidentally as tonight. "It's neither if we're dating," he had told her with a grin and intent that had disarmed her. Did it count as a (almost) hookup if it was your ex? Brienne suspected it did. She also suspected she couldn't face him again any time soon.

Of course, that's when the door bell rang, reminding her that it wasn't a choice entirely up to her. Because Jaime still had the key to her apartment and it was only courtesy that he wasn't using it. Courtesy she felt like abusing and throwing few chairs in front of the door, just in case he ran out of chivalry. 

But their shattering friendship deserved more, at least a proper killing blow instead of being left crawling onward for another week, so Brienne inhaled deeply and went to face the music. 

He leaned against the doorjamb and looked like he needed it because had ran all the way here, which would be dramatic enough for Jaime to do, and she wanted to remind him they were not in a fucking romcom. 

"Brienne, let's kiss these godsdamned goodbyes goodbye."

Or maybe they were and whoever was writing their lines was doing a _really_ sloppy job.

"Jaime," she began, but didn't really know what to follow it up with. Her intentions and wants were already at war and Jaime's desperation was arming one side with cannons.

"Listen, I thought I could do it. That I _would_. Let you go. Because you had finally seen enough of me to realize you're way too good for me or just gotten tired of me and wanted to be so very kind and _Brienne_ about it. I felt lucky enough that you still wanted to be my friend. But now I am not so sure that's true, that you really don't want me anymore."

Her heart wasn't one to literally _hurt_ at many things, but it did then and suddenly, the way he had gotten more and more subdued during their breakup conversation as if someone was putting out the light that makes most of Jaime made so much more, suffocating sense.

"I don't care if you're going to be over the Wall. I can afford to fly to you often and to fund the thermal underwear industry, if needed. Just say that you want me to," he wasn't begging, but there was such hope and determination written plainly on his face which was anything but plain. 

Brienne couldn't lie, now that the army of logic was utterly devastated and remnants of it had switched sides, and it had never been about lying anyway (except the denial): "I don't want you to buy a thermal underwear company. But I do want to give long distance a try, if you are really--"

She never gotto finish the sentence, because he launched upward and kissed her fiercely, and being in a questionable quality romcom suddenly didn't seem so bad as they stumbled backward into her apartment. 

Brienne _did_ later change her mind about that a little every time when Jaime came to the camp, frustrating her supervisors and coming up with new and ridiculous reasons why she personally must be responsible for keeping him warm and generally disturbing her work, but regret never came. 

And when Jaime suggested that she should move into his place upon returning to King's Landing, she smiled and asked "so we can kiss the godsdamned goodbyes goodbye for real this time?", the groan she got was a ten out of ten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I making bad meta jokes about my own even worse quality dialogue and plot? You bet I am.


	10. JB in Fairytale (Snow White inspired)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "JB in a fairytale?" - Roccolinde
> 
> Thats_my_jam.gif
> 
> So have a concept of my first fairy JB au that will probably never get written! More of a Snow White au than sleeping beauty but y’know.

When he wakes, his chest constricts around a horrified gasp that feels like drawn a lifetime ago (little does he know, it _was_ ) and when his lids lift, heavy like stones have been resting on them, he is temporarily blind for the brightness above. Light and blue, that is all he can see, the sun and the sky, and _her_ that is somehow both.

“Kingslayer,” the vision speaks and the spell breaks (again, though he doesn’t know) and he sits up abruptly, barely giving the person chance to step back. He sees her now, a woman as broad and tall as him, clad in armor and more freckles on her face than the layers of shock there.

“The curse... It broke, it truly broke,” she says, more to herself than him, and there is gooseflesh across the arms, because the moment Stark condemned him to eternal sleep if not for a touch of a pure heart, a pure love for his many sins was just _now_ , just moments ago he stood in the throne room of Red Keep that seemed to forever smell of charred flesh.

“How long have I slept, wench?” he asks and finds that the red (of blush) fits her oddly well, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smooching to get him awake, just praying. But don’t worry, they’ll get there.


	11. Hurt/Comfort + with characters who are bad at feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hurt/Comfort + with characters who are bad at feelings." - Anonymous 
> 
> Ain’t that just the moodest of moods. For me and for Braime. And because sometimes we write to cope.... TW for grief.

He doesn’t _know_.

He has eight more years of life beaten into his flesh, all the way to the bone, than her, but he doesn’t know so much. How it is to love a parent so much losing them is like watching a continent full castles built of light and love being swallowed by the sea. He doesn’t know the guilt that is dragging her under, too, though he hears it in her wrecked sobs, because even she doesn’t know its face entirely yet.

And most of all, he doesn’t know how to comfort her, how to be there for her. If there is even a way to do so. He doesn’t know how to love her through this in a way that brings her to the other side more gently, just a little more whole.

But what he does know is that he’s got to try.

So he reaches out and puts hand on her shoulder, thinks she didn’t even notice, at least until she turns and flings herself into him, hands scrabbling at his shirt and digging into as the sobs turn into wails. And he cradles her tightly and each shuddering breath hurts in _his_ ribcage.

Sometime later, she’ll be embarrassed. Sometime later, he’ll think about it and tell her grief is ugly not for how it looks, but how it eats you, hungry and bottomless and no table manners at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A world where Selwyn Tarth was a better parent because he didn’t have to place stupidass societal expectations onto his sole surviving child and also maybe got some mcfucking therapy.


	12. Holding hands in Hospital for the First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A5 + B8 + C6 if it sparks something? :)" - PrettyThief
> 
>  **A5 + B8 + C6:** Holding hands in Hospital for the First Time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite in hospital, but hey, it's something.
> 
> Also this was almost a Brienne-POV prequel to when the sun is shining through, but then this happened.

There are many privileges of recovering at most elite hospital in Crownlands, but his favorite by far is the large and quiet garden that melts softly into well-maintained forest, surrounding the complex from three sides and the sea whispering just beyond it to the west.

At least he appreciates it now, after Brienne took it upon herself to wrangle him outside the first few (or five) times.

Here, when they wander far away from the white walls and other patients roaming about, there are times when he can forget about being at hospital, as long as he doesn’t look down to his bandaged hand. Her smile has a way of transporting him away in general.

Even all the way to a time when they were just acquaintances through mutual and unlikely friends, butting heads so hard sparks flew, as Margaery loved to put it and it was clear what sort of sparks she meant. He had doubted it then and Brienne - resented it, much as she did him.

But now? Now it isn’t sparks that fall in his chest when she comes to visit, it’s warm embers that come to life at mere thought of her. Sometimes (most of the time), it’s the only thing he feels these days.

He wishes he had understood sooner (done something about it when he still could), when he was whole and there wasn’t bitterness in him as vast as an ocean that the lantern of her is floating through on a little boat.

It feels as large as the moon itself in moments like these, though, with her animatedly telling the latest nonsense that has happened at the bar, her hot takes on the latest _Blue Knight_ episode or when she shares her earphones with him and plays music on her phone. And today, they’ve wandered all the way to the rocky beach, with only mild complaining from him over the pine cones that are set to dislocate his ankle and it’s done more for her laugh and the way she calls him _cityboy_.

It’s not _pretty_ , it’s gray and the sky is overcast, seagulls like harsh cuts of white against the clouds, but then the sun breaches them and streaks down, reaches through the water as if plunging for secret treasures and he’s never understood Elia’s fascination with photography as good as he does now. Jaime has never felt more keenly how much a moment can slip by and turn to sea foam, without nothing to sharpen and anchor its image in your memory.

He fumbles for his phone, almost drops it and curses before she helps him fetch it out of his pocket and unlock it, and even steady it as he rushes to take the photo, somehow reading his intention without a spoken word. It comes out lacking contrast he sees (Elia’s voice in back of his head chimes about exposure and iso as if he has any real idea what she means), but it’s there and it feels _right._

Jaime puts the phone away and the rush of hurrying to capture this time drop into memento turns to almost aching peace. He inhales and exhales deeply, tastes the sea air and feels his lungs seem to press into the warmth in his chest.

He feels Brienne shifting next to him a little, their shoulders touching as they stand now, and then her hand wraps around his, gentle but firm, and when he looks up to her, he sees redness rising up her neck, like strawberry ripens from the tip to its crown. He shifts his hand so it is not merely held by her and he can entwine fingers with him and _that_ startles her, making her look at him for brief moment, eyes wide and questioning, and he can only smile in return.

If she had meant to tell him _I am here and you are here and there will be so many days to love still_ , he can try to press _thank you_ and _I love every day I love you in_ in her palm in return.

Years later, when the photo of stormy sky parted by sunstreams gilding the sea is part of his gallery, Jaime looks at it and thinks he truly got lucky to capture the moment one page was left behind and another was started with love.


	13. Kisses where one person is sitting in the other’s lap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "From the fictional kisses prompt list: 18 please!" - jellyb34n 
> 
> **18:** kisses where one person is sitting in the other’s lap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to make randomizer pick which of 3 versions this would be, but here we are.
> 
> Warning: Author has never been kinda drunk and will never pass up a chance to pepper in some Demi!Jaime.

So what if Jaime’s a little tipsy?

It doesn’t change the fact Brienne’s freckles are best viewed up close, especially if he is to Observe the excellent way they mesh with her delightful blush. It doesn’t change the fact he’s just had the most brilliant realization he can now _totally_ sit in her lap like he’s thought of before, though often at far less innocent circumstances.

But oh, the night is so very young still, he thinks as he drapes himself across his girlfriend’s (there still may be little exclamation marks dancing around his head, a month later, when he thinks of this) lap, arm around her shoulders, while hers is curled around his waist. Holding him to her. He feels like swooning a little, just to feel it tighten around him more.

“Brienne, you’re so,” he starts and is interrupted by her immediately.

“If you say beautiful, I will immediately throw you out of my lap,” she warns him with a scowl and he has to pout a little at that, because she might not be beautiful in the cover model way, but the way she’s made of sunlight and sea, the way her smile is wide and honest and blinding, the way her form is made for muscle study (for his fingers and his lips) _is_ beautiful to him, more than anything or anyone else, ever.

But he, much to everyone’s (including himself) surprise, knows what fights to pick. At least for now.

“Marvelous. Stunning. Jaw-dropping. Magnificent. Bewitching. Striking. Out of this world. Captivating. Astonishing. Breathtaking.” Jaime lists, pressing each word into her skin with a little smooch because he _can_. To her forehead and cheekbone and jaw and the broken line of her nose and corner of her lips (both) and so on.

“If I was truly breathtaking, you wouldn’t be talking so much, so I truly wish I was that, at the very least,” she says and ducks her head down a little and he is sure he actually feels the heat coming off of her face and ears, that’s how fierce her blush is.

“Ugh, Lannister, I _knew_ you’d be the gross PDA type, but I can’t believe you’ve corrupted Brienne, too,” Arya complains somewhere from the left of his attention field and he tips Brienne’s head back up gently, fingers beneath her chin to kiss her slowly and deeply. He’s slightly above her now and it adds an interesting angle, though he’s incredibly fond of the usual one, too.

When they part, he grins at the way Brienne’s the breathless one now, her eyes dark and just a touch hazy with want all at once. “Let’s go home and I’ll show you what other things I would love to use my mouth for,” he whispers to her and it’s not possible for her to blush any more, but he feels the additional level in his spirit. She nods once and then gently sets him on the couch so she can stand up and he honestly needs a _moment_.

“Go and kiss your Stag boy and maybe you’ll calm down,” he tosses in Arya’s direction as they leave and the way the girl sputters only adds to his great evening that’s about to turn incredible.


	14. A kiss paired with a tight hug, knocking the breath out of the person being hugged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A kiss paired with a tight hug, knocking the breath out of the person being hugged?" - Roccolinde

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am actually alive, everyone! Who knew. And I actually have broken my left arm recently, so like, least optimal time to try get my writing brain in order, but here we are. (It's obviously not in order, but let's pretend it's low angst, happy uni AU or something).

She knows the exact moment Jaime notices her - she doesn’t know how else to describe it other than the morning sun leaping straight to midday’s relentless brightness. His obvious joy (his smile, brighter than any memory can contain) melts and reforms the anxiety her stomach in all new twists and knots.

While Brienne spends few seconds saying quiet thanks to her ribcage for butterfly-net catching her somersaulting heart, he has shoved his way out of the small crowd of other ferry passengers and onto the docks.

And then he’s flying toward her, bags dropped haphazardly on the wooden boards, and she only has a moment to think ‘someone could trip over them’ and awkwardly raise her arms, not quite to stop or to embrace him, and then his are wrapped around her with impact that leaves her breathless.

Jaime laughs, hugging her even tighter and lifting her momentarily from the ground. She lets out a startled laugh, clinging to his shoulders instinctively and the contact seems to pour his giddiness into her, like he’s an overflowing golden goblet (she wants to hold him like this forever, wants to know how his joy would taste when glittering on their mouths).

And then she does, because the moment her feet are back on the ground he surges upward and kisses her. It’s everything; surreal and a smidge awkward at first angle, and sweeter than anything she could have tried to imagine (which she had).

“What was that?” Brienne asks when they part, her voice sturdier than the swirl of uncertain joy and hope making messy tornado of her thoughts.

“I wanted to start the summer right, like I should have last year,” he explains, taking on hopeless war with wind to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear with gentleness that hits a bullseye on a yearning target she wasn’t even aware she had. But then his affectionate smile falls as he freezes.

“I... I just missed you so much, but I should have asked or waited--”

She doesn’t to kiss him again.

(Brienne is mortified when her father seems to know about it before they even make it back to the house, but she doesn’t regret it, not even when Jaime suggests reenactment for the general store aunties if they’ll give a discount.)


End file.
